


Ghosts of Christmas Past

by ProseApothecary



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Christmas Fluff, Crowley is an Acts of Service vending machine, M/M, Possibly verging on crack but hey so is the show, so I like to imagine Aziraphale gifting him things in return, time jumps
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-20
Updated: 2019-07-20
Packaged: 2020-07-09 03:53:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19881184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ProseApothecary/pseuds/ProseApothecary
Summary: It all starts with Aziraphale being a Pinterest mum.





	Ghosts of Christmas Past

“So,” says Aziraphale, showing his phone screen to Crowley, “you can have a board for baby animals, a board for food-“

“You have 16 boards for food,” Crowley interrupts.

“Yes, well, they’re divided by region and type. You should download it. I’m sure it would help with planning the spread of vice around London.”

“Facebook is a much more direct conveyance system for ill-will,” Crowley explains. “Projecting it. Instigating it in others. Hugely convenient.”

“You have Facebook?”

Crowley brings up his profile and hands his phone to Aziraphale.

Aziraphale scrolls through his posts.

_Walked past a soup kitchen today #humbled #blessed #altruism_

_How Many Commandments is Too Many? Marie Kondo-ing Your Way to a Minimalist Moral Code_

_16 Technology Hacks You Should Ask Your Grandchildren to Explain in Depth_

A picture of a snake sipping a milkshake, captioned _MCDONALD’S, HIRE PEST CONTROL_

He frowns as he scrolls further. “I think it’s glitching. 12 of these posts are just the same shirtless selfie.”

“Oh no. That’s a very deliberate choice.”

Aziraphale gives him a look, but he’s downloaded Facebook the next day.

It’s not until Christmas that he messages Crowley, though, sending through an image of the Three Wise Men handing over gold to baby Jesus.

Crowley doesn’t deign to respond with more than a question mark.

_It’s a Gif of the Magi._

_Get it?_

_Crowley?_

Crowley reciprocates with a link to _12 Nigerian Princes Who Need Your Bank Details_

The next year, Crowley is appalled to realise that apparently this is becoming something of a _tradition_.

“Merry Christmas,” Aziraphale says, sliding a package across the table with a smile.

Crowley eyes it warily. “Again? Bit of a pagan holiday for your lot, isn’t it?”

“Nothing wrong with adopting a few human traditions.” He nudges the present forward.

Crowley opens it cautiously to reveal a plaque with embroidery reading “Bless this Mess”.

“…You really shouldn’t have.”

Aziraphale smiles wider. “Don’t worry. It was 3 pounds form the second-hand shop down the road.”

“What a relief. I’ll keep it somewhere it won’t get damaged. Like the closet.”

“The lovely woman behind the counter said it’s practically indestructible. Could last for centuries.”

Crowley narrows his eyes.

“Care for Christmas dinner?” Aziraphale asks innocently.

“You’re paying.”

That night, Crowley hangs the plaque above his bookshelf.

If, the next day, his plants look a little greener…well, he _is_ an expert gardener.

“Merry Christmas,” Crowley gets in before Aziraphale, handing over his gift.

“A can of crisps.” Aziraphale smiles, polite as ever. “Much appreciated.”

“Maybe you should have one.”

“Oh, I’m not hungry at the moment.”

“Maybe you should offer me one.”

Aziraphale gives him a funny look and opens the lid, only for a spring-loaded snake to pop out.

_“_ Magic!” says Aziraphale gleefully.

“Not magic,” says Crowley, “a magic _trick_. Because if you try that business with the coin at the party, it’ll go down like….well, like a falling angel.”

“Oh, I will definitely add it to the routine.”

“Not an addition. A replacement.”

Aziraphale, ignoring that, says “Nice to have a backup snake around.”

“…It’s not a _memento_ ,”

“Of course not,” Aziraphale says placatingly.

“Really Angel, the notion that I could be replaced with a plastic toy-”

“Speaking of plastic toys,” Aziraphale says brightly, “Crackers?”

“Merry-“

“-Post-apocalypse,” Crowley finishes.

“Fair enough,” says Aziraphale, clinking glasses. “I suppose human traditions don’t really fly in the Kuiper Belt. Although,” he adds, fishing around in his pocket, “I did get something-”

“When did you possibly have time to buy a-”

“It’s not a gift,” Aziraphale says, flushing somewhat as he pulls a sprig of mistletoe from his pocket. “Just a tradition that we never got around to. And I thought _now_ since we’re-since we’re…well, whatever we are...”

“Oh, alright,” says Crowley in a tone of great sacrifice.

Aziraphale delicately places the sprig in the skies above them.

They look up to see it drifting towards the heavens.

“Oh dear. I must have nudged it.”

“A freebie, then,” Crowley says, leaning in to kiss Aziraphale lightly.

“How generous,” says Aziraphale, the edge of a smile in his voice. “But tis the season, I suppose.”

Crowley rolls his eyes. “Next year we’re celebrating the satanic holidays as well.”

“Oh, I _love_ Halloween,” Aziraphale says, and Crowley’s struck with the dread of actually having to follow through on threats.

“Couples costumes,” Aziraphale says dreamily.

“No.”

“Trick or treating.”

“Decidedly no.”

“Jack O’Lanterns.”

“Maybe,” says Crowley, aware he’s fighting a losing battle.

“Another freebie,” Aziraphale says, looking quite pleased with himself.

“They’re rapidly running out.”

“Hm,” says Aziraphale dubiously.

_It would, perhaps, have been more believable if Crowley hadn’t happily accepted another kiss in the meantime._

“Relative to us.” Crowley explains, “In a few centuries you’ll be right out.”

“ _Lots_ of Halloweens before then.”

“You know,” says Crowley, “there is such a thing as being _too much_ of a bastard to be worth knowing.”

Aziraphale just smiles and leans in for another kiss.

Crowley really needs to work on his bluff.


End file.
